One of the horror genre's "most widely read critics" (Rue Morgue # 68), "an accomplished film journalist" (Comic Buyer's Guide #1535), and the award-winning author of Horror Films of the 1980s (2007), The Rock and Roll Film Encyclopedia (2007) and Horror Films of the 1970s (2002), John Kenneth Muir, presents his blog on film, television and nostalgia, named one of the Top 100 Film Studies Blog on the Net.

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

The Films of 1991: The Rocketeer

A
strange factoid about superhero movies -- which I've written much about lately -- is that period pieces rarely succeed at
the box office.

Doc
Savage: The Man of Bronze
(1975), The Shadow (1994), The Phantom (1996), and Sky
Captain and the World ofTomorrow (2004) are all examples of
superhero movies set in yesteryear that failed to succeed with audiences.

In
2011, Joe Johnston’s Captain America: The First Avenger
beat that long-standing curse. Perhaps that success happened because the
director had faced the same problem once before with 1991’s The
Rocketeer, a brilliant and beautiful genre film that never achieved the
success it so abundantly deserves.

Why
do fans prefer modern superheroes over ones operating in the past?

Perhaps
it is because the superhero template is -- broadly -- similar to the Western
format, only with some technological upgrades. Substitute a cool car like the
Batmobile for Silver, and a man in a cape for a cowboy in a ten gallon hat, and
one can detect how alike the genres truly are.

In
both brands of stories, singular men (or sometimes women) tackle corruption and
evil, and then, largely, go on their way…until
needed again.

So
take a superhero hero movie out of the present, and you might just as well be
watching a Western.

Or
perhaps it is just too difficult for us to suspend disbelief in a period
superhero film. Audiences might accept a man in a cape fighting criminals in a
modern day urban jungle, but if it happened in, say, 1939, how come nobody ever
heard of the guy?

My
point is that a period superhero not only asks us to believe in one fantasy
element (a person with super powers, for instance), but two, if you count
alternate history.

One
can speculate any number of reasons why modern audiences will readily accept an
Indiana Jones, but not a Kit Walker or Lamont Cranston. The point is, I suppose, that audiences seem
to prefer superheroes with a hard, technological -- even futuristic --
edge. We want them saving our world, today,
operating on the bleeding edge of now.

And
in the case of The Rocketeer, it’s a crying shame that our tastes run in this
direction. As critic David Ansen observed,
regarding the film, it is “determinedly
sweet,” and features “action scenes that are more bouncy than bone-crunching.”

Because of such virtues, I have always considered The Rocketeer the spiritual heir to Superman:
The Movie (1978), my choice -- still -- for the best superhero film of
all time.

At
one point in The Rocketeer, a character notes “you’d pay to see a man to fly, wouldn’t you?” And indeed, Superman’s famous tag-line
was “You’ll believe a man can fly.”

People
flocked to Superman: The Movie in 1978 (in the immediate post-Watergate Age)
because they wanted to dream about just such a thing being a reality; they
wanted to “believe again.”

The
Rocketeer understands
perfectly that brand of emotional longing in general, and the long-standing
human fascination with flight in particular.

In the film’s denouement, he
discusses wearing the film’s rocket pack and getting as close to Heaven as is
possible for a living mortal. “It was the
closest I’ll ever get,” he says.

In
pure human terms, The Rocketeer is very much about that yearning to touch the
sky, and few modern superhero pictures feature such a direct and delightful, human through-line. Instead, they get
bogged down in character backgrounds, villainous plans, and byzantine
back-stories.

Beyond
that accomplishment, The Rocketeer lovingly (and
meticulously) revives 1930s Los Angeles, and features a great turn by Timothy
Dalton as a flamboyant villain.

Significantly,
there is no angst in The Rocketeer.

There
is no trademark genre darkness, cynicism or bitterness.

The
film doesn’t focus on revenge, either.

Instead,
The
Rocketeer is really about joy; the joy of flight, and, in a way that
can’t be diminished, the fact that love of country can bring people of unlike
backgrounds together. The movie, after all, ends with Italian mobsters, a
failed pilot, government agents and Howard Hughes banding together to stop a
Nazi invasion.

What
could be more American, or more ennobling, than that “flight” of fancy?

“I
may not make an honest buck, but I’m 100% American. I don’t work for no two-bit
Nazi.”

A
young pilot, Cliff Secord (Bill Campbell) becomes embroiled, accidentally in a
battle between Federal agents and gangsters. Through a strange set of
coincidences, he ends up with his hands on a new super-weapon, a rocket-pack
designed by Howard Hughes (Terry O’Quinn) called the X-3.

Hoping
to make a living after his plane is destroyed in the battle, Secord secretly
keeps the X-3, and has his resourceful mechanic friend, Peeve (Alan Arkin) make
him a helmet to go with the rocket.

Before long, he emerges as a hero the press dubs “The Rocketeer.”

Unfortunately,
the number 3 box office draw in America, Neville Sinclair (Timothy Dalton), is
actually a Nazi spy and has been tasked with stealing the X-3 and returning it
to the Fatherland. He is allied with mobster Eddie Valentine
(Paul Sorvino), though Valentine doesn’t know Sinclair’s true allegiance.

Sinclair
attempts to ingratiate himself with Secord’s aspiring actress girlfriend, Jenny
Blake (Jennifer Connelly) to get close to the X-3. When that doesn’t work, however, he resorts
to force. He abducts Jenny and makes a bargain with Secord: the rocket pack for
the girl.

Unfortunately,
Howard Hughes and the U.S. government also want the rocket pack back, and Cliff
must make a difficult choice.

“How
did it feel? Strapping that thing to your back and flying like a bat out of
Hell?

The
Rocketeer is adapted
from the work of graphic novel writer-illustrator Dave Stevens, who first
published the title in 1982. And
overall, the title, like the film, is an homage to and pastiche of the pulpy
genre entertainment of yesteryear.

For
example, the visual look of the title character seems inspired by Commando
Cody, a hero who wears a leather flight suit, a bullet-shaped helmet, and a jet
pack. The character head-lined in King of the Rocketmen (1952) and Radar
Men of the Moon (1953).

The
film, however, focuses much of its artistic vision on the 1930s milieu. The
audience encounters Hollywood legends Clark Gable and W.C. Fields, for example.
A singer in the South Seas Club croons tunes from Cole Porter. And the soldier villain, Lothar (Tiny Ron) is
a dead ringer for Rondo Hatton (1894-1946), a screen actor who suffered from Acromegaly, and put his fearsome visage to menacing use in films like The
Brute Man (1946).

The
film also reveals the evolution of the landmark Hollywood sign. It goes from
reading Hollywoodland (in 1923) to reading Hollywood (1949), all because of a
Nazi incursion on American soil. And
Neville Sinclair, of course, is a variation on film idol Errol Flynn (who was
once believed to be a Nazi spy, oddly enough…).

One
of the best moments in The Rocketeer, for my money, however
is the Nazi propaganda film featured in the last act. In a sort of Art Deco (or
Futura) style, we see an animated representation of the Nazi plan for world
domination using the X-3. The terrifying
(but beautifully-wrought) imagery shows rocket men destroying Washington DC, burning
the American flag, and raising the Swastika.
This short film sells perfectly (and cheaply) the threat that America
faces.

Thanks
to production designer Jim Bissell and director of photography Hiro Narita, The
Rocketeer looks fantastic.But
just as powerful, if not more so, is the movie’s sense of heart, and
innocence.

After
Secord saves a fellow pilot (dressed as a clown for an air show), and takes off
using the rocket for the first time, the film veritably soars. One might attribute this feeling of emotional
flight to James Horner’s musical score, or to the setting -- wide open wheat
fields under Big American Sky.

Whatever
the cause, this inaugural flight sequence is one of the few in superhero movie
history that legitimately deserves comparison to the Smallville interlude in
Donner’s Superman: the Movie. The
overwhelming feeling is for an age -- an innocence -- lost, but also a yearning
for Americana and the American Dream.

What
is that American Dream? In films such as The Rocketeer it involves the
achievement of something more than wealth or success. It involves doing great things; breaking
barriers; going where none have gone before. Touching the sky.

It
is an indicator of The Rocketeer’s unfettered gentleness and innocence that its call
to patriotism in the final act plays not as cheesy or overdone, but as authentically
stirring. We see a mobster, Eddie Valentine (Paul Sorvino) make common cause
with G-Men to stop a threat to America’s future: Nazi soldiers.

Then,
after he implores Secord to “go get”
the bad-guys, we get the glorious shot of The Rocketeer posed next to Old Glory
herself, the American flag. The not subtle (yet still wonderful…) message behind
this imagery is that Americans may have many, many differences, but in times of
strife and crisis, they come together.

Mobster
or G-Man, Americans draw strength from one another and defend their country --
and the ideals of their country -- when they are threatened. I still remember
seeing the film in the theater, and the audience hooted and hollered with
raucous energy when the Valentine expressed his love of country, and his urging
for Secord to fight the good fight. It
gives me chills thinking about it, even today.

In
some way, superhero movies are really about (or should be about…) the things we
can’t always do; the ideals we can’t always live by, even though we wish to.

Like
rising to the occasion in a crisis.

Or
strapping on a rocket pack and taking off into the sky; touching Heaven. The Rocketeer absolutely understands
this facet of the genre, and presents a kind of wish-fulfillment genre story of
the highest order.

The
Rocketeer is a
light, joyous film that never focuses on special effects over people. The film’s
feet never touch the ground, and the action scenes, particularly the final
set-piece on the Nazi dirigible, are memorable and well-orchestrated.

So
why didn’t audiences flock to the film?

I
think that goes back to my original point about audiences deliberately
not-seeking out period superhero efforts. Even Captain America, Joe
Johnston’s genre follow-up to The Rocketeer, eventually reaches
the 21st century, right? Some
people might see that development as hedging a bet; protecting against an
undesirable outcome (financial failure).

Today,
superhero films have largely become mechanical and formulaic. They give us
everything we expect as part of some multi-media franchise experience (the
teaser, the trailer, the second act surprise, and the post-credits reveal or
preview for the next picture), but somehow forget to hold up as narratives, as
movies that live and breathe and tell us something vital about human nature.

The
Rocketeer makes
us believe that a man (and America with him, in one of its darkest hours)…can
fly.

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About John

award-winning author of 27 books including Horror Films FAQ (2013), Horror Films of the 1990s (2011), Horror Films of the 1980s (2007), TV Year (2007), The Rock and Roll Film Encyclopedia (2007), Mercy in Her Eyes: The Films of Mira Nair (2006),, Best in Show: The Films of Christopher Guest and Company (2004), The Unseen Force: The Films of Sam Raimi (2004), An Askew View: The Films of Kevin Smith (2002), The Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film & Television (2004), Exploring Space:1999 (1997), An Analytical Guide to TV's Battlestar Galactica (1998), Terror Television (2001), Space:1999 - The Forsaken (2003) and Horror Films of the 1970s (2002).

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